


The Sword Outwears Its Sheath

by Melina



Category: Highlander
Genre: Angst, Early Work, First Time, M/M, hl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-01-11
Updated: 1998-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melina/pseuds/Melina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos was really in no mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sword Outwears Its Sheath

**Author's Note:**

> A story I wrote a really, really long time ago. Consider that a warning.
> 
> Another first time story. It's set after "The Modern Prometheus" but before "Archangel."

Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimed noon. Methos rolled over in bed, willing himself to go back to sleep. Noon, so what? So, most people out there on the streets of Paris had put in half a day already, what did he care? What was the point of getting up? Better to just stay here in his flat, in his bed. Alone. This way he couldn't disappoint anybody, fail to meet their expectations, cause them pain. No people, no problems. Yes, it was definitely better just to stay in bed and try to go back to sleep.

Rolling onto his back, he peered at the sky through the curtains. Gray and cloudy, just like his mood. It wasn't as if he was missing a nice day. Another reason not to bother getting up. If he stayed in bed, he also wouldn't have to face a random bloody challenge on the streets of Paris, as he had last night. An idiot kid with more bravado than common sense. For some reason he couldn't explain, the Quickening was still buzzing through him, refusing to settle. He pulled the covers closer around him, shutting his eyes again and willing oblivion to return, wishing for some peace, at least for a little while.

The tingle of Immortal presence made him groan. Before the knock on the door even came, he shouted, "Whoever you are, go away and leave me the hell alone."

"Methos? It's me, let me in." The voice was a familiar, lightly accented baritone.

"Go away, MacLeod."

"Methos, if you don't open the door, I _will_ break it down..."

The world's oldest Immortal leaned back on his bed and wondered for the thousandth time what had possessed him to get involved in the life of the Immortals' very own version of a superhero. _As if you don't know, old man_, he thought,_ maybe it's that whole thing about being in love with him._

He also knew that MacLeod would make good on his threat, and he didn't feel like dealing with a broken door. He shouted, "Bloody hell, MacLeod, one minute." He snatched a pair of black sweats off the floor and pulled them on over his boxers, not bothering with a shirt. He went to the door and yanked it open to face a concerned Scotsman. "Okay, it's open, you're in, tell me what you want and then go." Methos' voice was clipped and irritated.

MacLeod entered, shutting the door behind him. Even in his current mood, Methos couldn't keep himself from sweeping his eyes once over MacLeod. The Highlander looked beautiful, as always. "Joe was worried, Methos, he's been calling you all morning..." Methos gestured towards the phone, the cord unplugged from the wall.

"I just wasn't in the mood for chatting, MacLeod. Actually, I was trying to sleep when you so rudely started pounding on my door."

MacLeod studiously ignored the older man's demeanor. "He said you left to take a challenge last night."

"Yes, so what? You're not the only one who actually plays our little Game, MacLeod."

"He was worried when he didn't see you again." MacLeod didn't understand Methos' hostility. Things had been somewhat tense between them, to say the least, but Methos hadn't directed such open anger towards him, at least not recently.

"Well, obviously, I'm fine. So go tell Joe, and then both of you can leave me alone." Methos flopped back onto the bed again.

MacLeod perched on a chair next to the bed. "Was it somebody from your past?" He asked, probing gently, trying to get to the root of Methos' emotional state.

Methos replied with resignation, realizing the sooner MacLeod got the information he wanted the sooner he would leave. "No, MacLeod. It was a chance encounter with a young idiot at the place Joe was playing. He didn't know me, and I didn't know him."

MacLeod was even more baffled. "Then what's wrong, Methos? Why does this have you so upset?"

Methos turned to face the younger man, meeting his eyes. "Why do you care, MacLeod?"

"Because...because I'm concerned, Methos."

He replied dryly, "That's not an answer, MacLeod. Why are you concerned?"

MacLeod considered the question for a moment, starting to realize that what was bothering Methos might not have anything to do with the challenge, and everything to do with their relationship. What was Methos to him now? He dropped his head for a moment, then looked up and met Methos' eyes, his voice sincere and quiet. "I'm concerned because you're my friend."

"Am I, MacLeod? I thought I was banished from your kingdom. You know, the place only Good Guys may enter. Well, as you know I'm not a good guy." Methos' tone was sarcastic, but the words were heavy with honest feeling.

"Methos, I..." MacLeod paused. "After everything that's happened, I know we haven't talked this all out. It's been one thing after another, Kronos, then Keane, then Byron..."

Methos' reply was brusque. "Yes, I know, MacLeod. I was there."

MacLeod fell silent. Methos had spoken the words sarcastically, but he was right. He had been there. MacLeod had spent so much time focussing on his own emotions that he hadn't considered how painful the Kronos incident had been for the older man. Methos was also right on another level--Methos had been there for MacLeod when he needed him. He couldn't have defeated Kronos and Silas alone. Then the man who had once said to him, "I didn't survive 5000 years by worrying about anybody but myself," had actually challenged Keane, just to get him out of MacLeod's life. He had also been more...understanding, if that was the word, about the Byron situation than MacLeod might have been if the situation had been reversed.

Finally, he spoke. "I know you were, Methos." The next words were among the most difficult Duncan MacLeod had ever spoken, not because they required him to swallow his pride, but because they embodied a recognition of just how wrong he had been, and how much pain he had caused his friend. "I'm sorry, Methos. I had no right to judge who you were or what you did three thousand years ago. I can't even start to comprehend what life was like then, what the world was like. It was wrong, and I am so very sorry."

Methos knew just how hard it was for MacLeod to speak those words. "It's all right, MacLeod. It's part of who you are." _Part of what makes you so damned irresistible. Not to mention damned infuriating at times._

MacLeod looked at the older man again. He was still tense, curled up with his knees clasped to his chest. "What else is bothering you, Methos?"

Methos sighed. "It's this kid, Mac. He's been rattling around inside me all night, he won't settle." He paused. "There are reasons I try not to take heads, MacLeod. It's gotten tougher and tougher over the years. The sword outwears its sheath, as it were."

"That's Byron, isn't it?" Methos nodded in response. He felt himself starting to settle down, the kid's Quickening finally beginning to quiet itself within his soul. As much as he didn't want to admit it at the moment, talking to and reconciling with MacLeod had helped.

MacLeod looked down at his hands again, thinking about the heads Methos had taken because of him. Kristin, Silas...and Keane, almost. Each more difficult than the last, and he hadn't told MacLeod about it. Silas might have been unavoidable, but he could have spared him Kristin...

"Kristin wasn't so bad, don't worry about it."

MacLeod looked up, shock registering on his face. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

For the first time that day, Methos smiled, looking into beautiful brown eyes. He answered softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You're an open book, Duncan. It doesn't take a psychic to read your mind."

Methos kept looking at MacLeod, meeting his eyes. Could he accept MacLeod's friendship again, knowing it would never go any further, knowing that his love for the Highlander would forever go unanswered? Could he be a part of this man's life, watch him with Amanda and other lovers, and know he would never be anything more than a friend, a buddy? He dropped his eyes. Maybe it was time for Adam Pierson to disappear from Paris. Bora Bora was nice this time of year...or perhaps a nice monastery somewhere. Anywhere he wouldn't run into Duncan MacLeod.

MacLeod watched his friend's face as he spoke, the eyes that continued to stare into his for a moment and then dropped away, and realization suddenly dawned like a light bulb going on above his head. He had seen the look in Methos' eyes just before he dropped them from MacLeod's face. He had seen that look from women who couldn't admit their feelings, couldn't put words to their emotions.

What of his own feelings, which were suddenly welling up with such force that they threatened to choke him? He knew that his feelings for Methos were sharp, intense. They had been since that day he walked into the old man's apartment. Intensely curious, protective, trusting, grateful, worried...intensely angry, hurt and betrayed. He couldn't find a single neutral word to describe how he felt about the man--every feeling he had was simply _intense_.

MacLeod's sexual experiences had occasionally included men, mostly long ago, but he had never been in love with a man before. Were the feelings he had toward Methos love? He didn't know. Suddenly, he felt his eyes raking over his friend, who was still staring down at his hands. Most people would describe Methos as thin, but looking at his friend's bare chest, MacLeod didn't see a thin man, just a lean one. His chest was well-defined muscle, covered by perfect ivory skin...beautiful eyes, a sensual mouth...MacLeod felt his face flush, and suddenly he had another word to add to his list of feelings about Methos. Intense desire.

When he finally spoke again, it was perhaps two minutes after Methos had made his comment, although it felt like an eternity. His voice was choked with emotion. "Maybe I'm not the only open book."

Methos snapped his head up to look at MacLeod, and saw the realization there. He dropped his eyes again, trying to keep himself from screaming, or sobbing. _Perfect, old man. Now he knows, and you won't have to worry anymore about whether you want to be his friend or not. He's about to walk out of this flat and out of your life forever._

He decided to take one shot at defusing the situation. Slowly, he looked up. "Duncan, I..."

He was interrupted by the Highlander, who was suddenly sitting beside him on the bed. "Methos, no, please...don't say anything." Duncan leaned forward, taking Methos' chin in his hand, and kissed him gently. Slowly, he traced his tongue over Methos' lips, learning every curve, every texture.

Methos was so stunned that he could only react, his heart starting to race. He was torn between shock, bliss, and fear; fear because he had no idea what was going on in Duncan's head. Was this a whim, a curiosity for him? Was Methos willing to make love now and worry about the consequences later? He finally parted his lips for air, and Duncan took the opportunity to plunge his tongue deep inside the older man's mouth, continuing his slow, sensual exploration. Methos couldn't hold back his gasp, and decided that consequences be damned...did he want this? Yes...oh, yes.

Duncan shifted on the bed to move closer to Methos, unwilling to break the kiss. Methos tasted like the savanna, like the forest, like the ocean. Timeless, with no beginning and no end. The older man had finally started to recover from his surprise, to respond to him, and their tongues met, clashing fiercely, each trying to devour the other. Duncan dropped his hand from Methos' chin, tracing both hands down Methos' neck and shoulders. He pushed Methos down on the bed, lying across his chest. Duncan finally broke the kiss, tracing his mouth down the older man's chin, onto his neck. Methos groaned as Duncan kissed, nipped and licked his way over his neck, pausing over his pulse, nuzzling his whole face against him as if he wanted to feel the rhythm there with his entire body.

Methos reached for MacLeod, tangling his fingers in his thick brown hair, removing and tossing aside the hair tie. He moved his hands lower, stroking the firm muscles of his upper back under the lightweight T-shirt he wore. Methos plucked at the fabric impatiently, and MacLeod lifted his head from Methos' neck for long enough to reach back and pull the offending garment up and off. Their eyes met, and Methos asked softly, "Duncan, are you sure this is what you want?"

Rich brown eyes stared into his gold-flecked green ones. "Methos, I have rarely been more sure about anything. What I want right now is you."

Methos' eyes closed, still in a state of semi-disbelief, but after five thousand years, he had learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He reached for Duncan again without opening his eyes, tracing his splayed fingers across the firm, muscled back. It wasn't enough; he wanted to study Duncan, to touch every inch of him. Fighting the urge to let the Scot kiss his neck for the next few decades, he gently pushed MacLeod over onto his back. The younger man was surprised but unresisting, looking into Methos' eyes with growing desire.

Methos sat up, slipping one leg over the younger man to straddle his thighs. He ran his hands over Duncan's chest, exploring every inch of his skin. _God, but he was beautiful_, he thought. Firm, perfectly defined muscle covered by golden brown skin, tapering to his waist. He had no idea that Duncan was thinking similar thoughts about him, watching the play of the dim, filtered sunlight over his pale skin, wondering why he hadn't noticed before how sensually beautiful Methos was.

Methos finally leaned over and began kissing his way across and over Duncan's chest, pausing to suck each nipple in turn, teasing them into points of desire. Duncan moaned softly, gently arching his back into the older man's caresses. He traced his own fingers through Methos' soft hair, touching his neck and feeling the finely planed lines of his shoulders.

The oldest Immortal tried to control his own rapidly growing desire, but it only increased as he slid down Duncan's body and felt the other man's erection against his thigh. He gently brushed one hand across Duncan's groin, still covered by denim. He heard Duncan groan, and smiled as he kissed his stomach and belly button, pausing to encircle and tease it with his tongue. Methos reached for the Highlander's waist, quickly unbuttoning his jeans. With regret, he stopped his exploration long enough to undress Duncan, removing shoes and socks, jeans and briefs with rapid succession, Duncan unhesitatingly lifting his hips to help him.

Methos felt like he was in heaven as he raked his eyes over the Highlander's completely naked body. Like a starving man at a feast, he barely knew where to begin. He slid down the bed, taking one foot in his hand. He caressed it gently at first, kissing the ankle, running his tongue slowly across the slightly rough skin on top of the foot. Languidly, lost a sea of sensuality and desire, he began licking between the toes, tasting the slightly salty skin, and then finally, sucking one toe after another into his mouth.

He looked up at Duncan, who was groaning softly, the sensation evoking clear images of where he really wanted Methos' mouth at that moment. Methos felt his own desire increasing with every moment that he watched Duncan's reaction, and gently set the foot down on the bed, sliding between the younger man's thighs as he began licking his way up the leg. By the time he reached the inner thigh, Duncan was squirming underneath him, on the verge of losing control, unable to bear the slow teasing any longer. "Methos...please..."

Methos smiled, and finally reached the place Duncan wanted him to be. He took the hard cock in his hand, slowly tracing his thumb across it as he bent his head to the tip. He slid his tongue into the tiny opening, sucking the liquid from it as he languidly continued to move his hand. Methos was still having a hard time believing this was real, that he wouldn't wake up and find that this was all a dream, but at the moment, he didn't care. He reveled in the closeness of Duncan, the taste and smell of him, and most of all his increasingly vocal responses to Methos' touch. He finally opened his mouth fully, sliding down the length of Duncan's cock, taking as much in as he could and sucking, tracing his tongue around the tip each time he moved back and sliding it down the shaft when he moved forward.

Duncan moaned, knowing that he was near the edge, yet wanting to prolong the incredible sensations for as long as possible. Methos moved one hand lower to cup his balls, fondling them gently. The additional stimulation was more than Duncan could take, and he exploded, arching his back and crying out. Methos held still, allowing the younger man to thrust inside of him, gladly swallowing the hot liquid, loving the knowledge that he had caused Duncan's orgasm, his pleasure. Duncan continued to shudder for long minutes, his heart and breathing finally calming. Methos released him gently, sliding up his chest and kissing him fully on the mouth.

Duncan leaned into the kiss, tasting himself on his lover's tongue and lips, and rolling Methos onto his back. He felt Methos' erection against his thigh, and moved quickly to pull down the sweats and boxers he still wore, tossing them aside. Duncan leaned over him, kissing him again as he reached down to stroke the erect cock, caressing the length of it and stimulating the weeping tip with his thumb. Methos closed his eyes and moaned softly, wanting nothing more than Duncan's hand to bring him release. But Duncan had other ideas. "Methos...will you make love to me?" he asked softly.

Methos' eyes opened and met his. "Duncan, we don't have to..."

He pressed fingers over the older man's lips. "I know. I want to." Methos searched the brown eyes, reassuring himself that Duncan really did want this, that he wasn't trying to bring Methos pleasure at the expense of something he didn't want to do. That would be just like Duncan. But the Highlander's eyes were sincere, and trusting.

He reached into the table next to the bed, looking for some lubricant, and settled on a small container of massage oil. He opened it and tossed the cap aside, releasing the pleasantly musky smell into the air, then put it down on the table. Methos slid behind Duncan, kissing his neck, tracing his hands over his shoulders and back. Despite Duncan's words, he could feel his tension. He was willing to bet that Duncan had never done this before, at least not willingly. He frowned at the thought, redoubling his determination to be slow and gentle despite his own need, which was threatening to explode at any moment.

Methos continued his slow massage, keeping his hands moving across Duncan's body, whispering into his ear how beautiful he was, how much he turned Methos on, how much he wanted him. He was pleased when he ran one hand over Duncan's thigh to find that he was becoming aroused again. Reassured, he reached for the oil, dipping two fingers into it. Kissing Duncan's neck, he slid his hand between his cheeks, beginning a soft, slow probe and gently sliding one finger into the tight opening. He felt Duncan tense against him, and whispered, "Relax, love...tell me if you want me to stop and I will..." Duncan shook his head, and forced himself to relax. He wanted this, he truly did, he wanted to feel Methos inside of him, needed it. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and felt his body begin to relax and respond to the gently persistent intrusion.

Gently, Methos added a second finger, slowly moving inside Duncan, stretching him, relaxing the muscles. _Gods, he was tight. _He slipped his other arm around Duncan, slowly stroking his now erect cock. Duncan was distracted from the intrusion behind him at the sensation, but tensed again slightly as he felt the fingers remove themselves from him. He felt Methos' cock against him, heard Methos whispering, "Breathe, Duncan, relax...I want you so much..." Slowly, Methos pressed against him, willing himself the control he needed to ensure Duncan's pleasure. He moved as slowly as he could, entering inch by inch, gasping and calling on every bit of his millennia of experience to maintain his control, still whispering to Duncan, kissing his neck, stroking him.

Duncan relaxed, willingly yielding himself to Methos' touch as he felt himself fully penetrated. He cried out, unprepared for the incredible pleasure of being filled by Methos, possessed by him, of surrendering to him. Methos began to thrust slowly inside of him, pulling almost all the way out until he heard Duncan gasp and push backwards, demanding that Methos stay inside of him as fully as possible. He reached around and began to stroke Duncan's cock in rhythm with the movements of his hips, reveling in every moment of Duncan's reaction to the dual stimulation. Duncan was so responsive, so sensual, reacting to every touch, every movement of his hands, mouth and hips.

"Methos, yes, God, please..." Duncan cried out. Methos knew they were both near the edge, his already fractured control starting to shatter as they moved closer and closer, thrusting as deeply as he could as Duncan called out for more, for Methos to fuck him harder. He felt Duncan spill onto his hand, felt him tighten even further around his cock, and it drove Methos over the edge. He exploded inside the Highlander in a shattering orgasm that seemed to last forever, thrust after thrust, and he was crying out himself, embracing Duncan as tightly as he could.

Long minutes later, he gently separated himself from Duncan, turning him in his arms to kiss his mouth and face. Duncan was still shaking slightly, still overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience. He returned the kisses, curling tightly around Methos, his tremors quieting after a few minutes. Finally, he dozed off to sleep. Methos stayed awake, pressed against Duncan, listening to his quiet breathing and the steady, firm beat of his heart.

Methos knew that later they would have to talk; to think; to make decisions. For the moment, he was simply and completely happy, and refused to let any negative thoughts intrude. Maybe, just maybe, they would have time together, maybe even a life together. Perhaps the sword hadn't outworn the sheath quite yet; just perhaps, there was a reason to get up in the morning after all.

~ the end ~

_Posted January 11, 1998_


End file.
